


Give Me Love

by pearypie



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Acceptance, Angst, Desire, Longing, M/M, hidden love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-07-15 18:00:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7232956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearypie/pseuds/pearypie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"But that afternoon he asked himself, with his infinite capacity for illusion, if such pitiless indifference might not be a subterfuge for hiding the torments of love." ~ Gabriel García Márquez, 'Love in the Time of Cholera'</p><p>A winter's ball reveals more than Ciel ever cared to admit - especially to himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Adagio

Alois Trancy is not a real earl and he knows it. He doesn’t pretend otherwise and only hosts balls and parties because he _has_ to. The old bastard who _was_ Earl Trancy loved throwing soirees and as his heir, Alois couldn’t break tradition. Or, that’s what he told himself. It didn’t matter to him that invitations were always included to the Earl of Phantomhive; it didn’t matter that they were always rejected, sent back, or never answered. Alois only did it because he _had_ to, because being an earl had stupid responsibilities that he didn’t like and, half the time, didn’t even understand.

He didn’t know much about his paper mills in Finland or his lavender farms in Provence or the lace and silk textiles in Birmingham, Manchester, and Liverpool. He didn’t even know he owned them until Claude brought over four letters from various estate managers inquiring about import tariffs and royal charters and a shitload of crap he didn’t fucking care about. Or he didn’t care _initially._

Alois tried to convince himself that the only reason he endured those unbearable dull lessons from Claude about accounting treatment, high finance, geography, taxation, import-export detailing, engineering, and law—oh _god,_ Alois hated it all. He hated how Claude’s stoic expression never betrayed his true disappointment; he hated how his handwriting was sloppy at best and illegible at worst. He hated how Ciel Phantomhive ran Funtom with all the efficiency of an ice king and, most of all, Alois hated his own inadequacy. He never, ever wanted to be caught in a conversation with Ciel about business and not know what he was saying.

He wanted to impress Ciel—just a little bit. He wanted Ciel to know that he wasn’t some stupid, phony imposter who was too loud and too coarse and too brash. He wanted Ciel to treat him like an equal because maybe, just maybe, if Ciel likes him—even a tiny little bit—then Claude wouldn’t be so cold. Maybe noblemen wouldn’t look at him like he was the serpent who seduced Eve. Maybe noblewomen would want to shake his hand instead of walking away, noses in the air, because they could smell something common about him.

Maybe, if Alois knew a little more about this and a little more about that, Ciel might look his way once in a while.

Because Alois—pathetic as he is— _yearns_ for Ciel’s approval. He doesn’t know why but he _does._ The Earl of Phantomhive is respected and feared; people don’t invite him to balls just out of courtesy—they invite him because he’s important and people defer to him and the queen confides in him.

Even though _he’s_ the Queen’s Spider, she doesn’t trust Alois. Looks at him with thinly veiled distaste and only solicits his services because she knows Ciel will come after him if he runs afoul. But Alois can say _fuck her_ and _screw them_ and _I don’t care_ to everyone except Ciel.

Ciel—with his meringue white skin and dark cobalt hair and perfect, delicate beauty. Ciel with his sapphire suits and black velvet waistcoats and silver walking cane. Everything about him radiates cool, calm control and Alois—for some twisted, strange reason—is instantly attracted to that. It’s why he loved Claude so passionately, why he threw himself at his butler’s feet and begged for a scrap of affection.

It was why Alois cried himself to sleep after the Danse Macabre and Claude’s temporary insanity and realized, even with a demon on his side, _he wasn’t good enough._

 

Lord Edgar Redmond was hosting a winter’s ball at his family’s ancestral estate. Alois was invited because Lord Greer—a suspect in Scotland’s industrial destruction—was also going to be there. And Alois agreed to attend because if there was murder afoot, Ciel would be there too. He hadn’t felt so excited in a while—in fact, dare he say, there was giddiness coursing through his veins. It tainted his cheeks a beautiful peach pink and made his sky blue eyes sparkle.

He allowed Hannah to dress him with minimal fuss, choosing black silk trousers and a dark plum waistcoat embroidered with gold fleur-de-lis patterns. Alois even added a gold pocket-watch because he knew Ciel had a tendency to check the time every hour or so. His shirt was white satin and his cravat, cloth-of-gold; his surcoat was the color of Provence’s lavender fields—the same ones sun-kissed French maidens visited, turning those fragrant blossoms into sweet smelling perfumes for the kings and queens of Europe. His pale blonde hair was coiffed, his black high heeled boots buckled, and—the piece de resistance—a gold and ruby walking cane was brought before him.

He had it made in Salzburg and brought to Trancy Manor half a week ago.

For the first time in his life, Alois felt ready to match the ton and, hopefully, exchange a few words with Ciel. He wanted that sapphire eye to appraise him, wanted to watch Ciel’s petal pink lips move. He wanted to hear kind words—loving words—words that could make him feel whole.

 

The incandescent ballroom was like a pearl split in half—everything glimmered cream and soft gold, with hints of sunrise pink here and there. The polished alabaster marble was inlaid with Greco-Roman designs and the domed ceiling had been hand painted. It detailed scenes of heaven—soft, powder blue; enchanting, passionate red; purifying emerald green—and there were cherubs and clouds and— _oh,_ Alois learned, it’d been imported straight from Portugal.

 _Portugal._ He thinks. _That is where I must have my ceilings and walls brought in from as well. Murals—I’ll make the east corridor a mural. One painted with French nymphs or maybe Neptune underwater. What a funny old geezer; perhaps his beard prevents him from drowning._ He chuckles lightly but keeps this to himself. He knows his humor is considered crass in these parts and, surprisingly, when Alois is on his best behavior and throws no tantrums, society is relatively lukewarm. He considers that a steep improvement from outright loathing. 

Standing in an illuminated corner (for a moment, he marvels at the swan-shaped gas lamps mounted on the walls), Alois searches for Ciel when—there! A slight form dressed in dark navy blue with a black cravat and unrepentant scowl stalks towards him. Alois is positively gleeful when Ciel (and that blasted butler of his) stop three feet away from where he and Claude are standing.

Before Alois can speak two words of greeting, Ciel glares at him with the full force of a winter storm.

“What,” he sneers, voice ice cold, “are _you_ doing here?”

Alois had long since perfected his blasé extravagance to the point of perfection. Masquerading his hurt, he plasters on a wide smirk and nods towards a dancing Edgar. “I was invited, Phantomhive, don’t you know? And, shouldn’t you at least _bow_ to me? Courtesy, greetings, propriety—all that good shit.”

Ciel’s grip around his walking stick tightens and he looks half-ready to use it on Alois. “Get out.” His voice is low, controlled, and full of dire warning.

 _Well,_ Alois shrugs, _I’m already damned. I’m not letting you push me aside—not when I’ve worked so hard_ ** _just for you_** _._

“Why should I? I like this ballroom. I might get the one at Trancy Manor redone to look like it. Doesn’t it remind you of Venus’s shell? The one Botticelli painted her in? How _erotic._ ” He grins but realizes that humor is lost on Ciel.

“I’m here on a case.” The sapphire eyed earl intones, spine rigid as his raven-haired butler looms over him, an ever present smirk on an all too delectable mouth. “Furthermore, my betrothed is here as well and should your presence bring about _any_ injury to her person then I can guarantee that come morning light, you won’t be alive to regret it.”

Alois ignores the stab of pain he feels at the mention of his fiancée. It’s not that he hates her—on the contrary, Alois _likes_ Elizabeth. She’s bright and sweet and warm. She’s the only other person in this goddamn world who makes an effort to be kind to him. So, instead of answering, Alois swipes a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and gives a mock toast to Ciel.

“Why don’t you relax and have a drink for once in your life?” He holds the glass out to him. “One sip will do.” _Though, I’d love to see you drunk as well._

Ciel takes this as an affront to his dignity and takes a step back.

“My lord?” His butler’s caramel smooth voice pierces the sonorous ballroom. “Would you like for me to extract his presence elsewhere?” Sebastian regards Alois with a look of polite disgust.

From the corner of his eye, Alois sees that Claude is utterly indifferent to it all. _Probably agrees with him._

“No.” Ciel sighs at long last, sounding both bored and irritated. _Very_ irritated. “We’ll be leaving in half an hour anyway.”

_Half an hour?_

“Why so early Phantomhive? You don’t have a curfew do you?” He can’t help the jape that leaves his lips, said in a rocking-horse cadence that offends Ciel and annoys his butler.

He briefly glares at Alois before addressing Sebastian directly. “Get the horse and carriage ready. We won’t be here long.”

Sebastian raises a brow, clearly questioning the wisdom of Ciel’s decision but after a few moments of wordless exchange, the butler bows low, murmurs “yes, my lord”, and vanishes—like a shadow at dawn. The silent repartee leaves Alois unbalanced—never, even before the Danse, did he and Claude have that sort of understanding. He’d always been forced to verbally command Claude and even then, his butler seemed reluctant.

Yet Alois’s revere was broken when Ciel moved to stand next to him, sapphire eye fixed on an indistinguishable dot in the colorful crowd. He can’t help the wide, beaming smile that appears on his face.

“Can’t dance?” Alois jokes, looking down at Ciel’s profile with a mixture of reverence and want.

The blue haired earl remains steadfast, not turning to acknowledge the blonde. “I don’t prefer it.”

“Ah, but you _can?_ ”

“Yes.” Ciel sighs, exasperated. As if he were talking to a five year old. “All noblemen can dance. It’s part of the aesthetic.”

“Then you’re a minuet.”

“Excuse me?”

Despite his clipped answer, Alois is delighted. This is the first real conversation he’s had with Ciel that, one, has lasted more than twenty seconds and two, didn’t contain a single threat or mention of faustian contracts.

“The minuet.” The blonde continues, not missing a beat. “It’s a slow, solemn dance that older gentlemen prefer. Probably so their breathing remains even.”

“I see.” Ciel’s jaw clenches.

Alois pinches his wrist so hard he has to swallow a cry of pain. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._ He wants to hit his head against the wall. _Be yourself—just…be_ ** _yourself_** _._

“Didn’t mean to offend.” Alois tries, desperately wanting Ciel to see that he wasn’t the spoiled, bratty heir who jeered and ridiculed constantly. He wanted to tell Ciel _it’s all a facade—I respect and admire and_ ** _love_** _you._ But his pride—shredded to papier-mâché pieces by Claude—refuses to budge. “You just don’t seem fond of ceremony.”

A wry smile curves on Ciel’s mouth. Alois suppresses an inward cheer.

“And you, Lord Trancy, seem to delight in outlandish displays of foolish fancy.”

The foxtrot is winding down and Alois can see people beginning to disperse. He takes a breath, _now’s my chance._ The veranda is empty and beautiful, filled with silvery grey bannisters and moon colored pavement. There are dark green groves dotted with white lilies and Alois desperately wants to ask Ciel to take a walk with him. Just one round.

“Ciel.”

“Yes, _Lord Trancy?_ ” He emphasizes the title a bit too harshly. 

Alois swallows. “I’m overdressed and it’s very warm in here.”

Ciel turns his head, ever so slightly, regarding Alois with an expression of mild revulsion. “And what did you hope to achieve by informing me of your intemperate state?”

“I—well I—you know, it’s—the weather is very pleasant and—“ he’s stuttering his way through a confession that leaves the object of his affection peeved and weary.

“Look, Alois.” Ciel interrupts swiftly and quickly. “I don’t like you, I don’t trust you, and I don’t want to be around you. Whatever mischief you hoped to cause this evening is now invalid because I’ve been keeping the peace, so to speak, all night. Now, I’m tired and Lord Greer has left.”

Alois’s mouth opens and closes and, suddenly—with a stroke of inspiration—he takes out the gold pocket watch and grins. “You still have fifteen minutes before your half hour’s up.”

A faint—very faint—smile appears on Ciel’s lips. “I know.” And without a word of warning, the earl vanishes into the thinning crowd right as the Viennese waltz strikes up. The soothing, elegant harmony brings a few couples to the dance floor but none, Alois realizes, are more radiant than the Earl of Phantomhive and his golden haired fiancée.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: If this seems all over the place, it’s meant to. These are Alois’s train of thoughts we’re following—one second he wants Ciel’s respect, the next he wants his friendship, then he wants his love. Alois doesn’t know WHAT he wants, he’s just jumping from one desire to the next. It’s in his personality to do so. 
> 
> (Er, reviews and feedback would be lovely as I rarely write Alois due to his inconstant moods. So, I’m really sorry if he appears somewhat out of character ^^)


	2. Allegretto

The ball had siphoned away the last of Alois Trancy’s spirit. He had endured nearly three hours of meaningless waltzes and frivolous chatter when his heart—that broken, rusted organ—slowly decayed in his chest. Ciel had vanished without so much as a wave in his direction, leaving the blonde earl in a state of wretched despair. All he wanted was for someone to understand—someone to care for him the way Luka had.

Bitter tears now rolled down his rose pale cheek as he curled into a fetal position, warm under the heavy purple duvet. His mind was a relentless cacophony of sounds and memories; flashes of Ciel’s fair visage burned inside his head while the cool brush of the watchdog’s hand jolted Alois’s heart into a frenzied beat.

He wanted to scream. To scream and scratch and _feel_ something other than this treacherous ache. Was he so hard to love? Could he not be  _happy—_

Three punctual knocks brought him to the edge of sanity.

“Yes?” He called out from under the blankets, drawing the covers to his chin. “Who is it?”

The door opened and there stood Claude, cold and beautiful, holding a gilt candelabra. “Your highness.” He acknowledged politely, bowing his head in deference though Alois knew his butler was anything but submissive. “I apologize for having intruded on your sleep but there is an urgent matter downstairs that simply will not go away.”

Channeling his hurt from angst to rage, Alois glared, winter eyes cold and unforgiving—Claude liked it that way. “Unless they’re the shah of Iran, tell them to get out or else I’ll have their heads.”

His butler bowed again, leaving Alois somewhat astonished and quite puzzled. “Apologies again, your highness. It seems that this persistence can only stem from one queen’s watchdog.”

The blonde perked up, half loathing himself for his weakness while his heart thrummed with eager hope. “Ciel’s here?”

“Yes, your highness.”

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Alois snapped, with genuine irritation. “Bring him upstairs!”

Claude’s smile darkened, just a fraction. “It is customary to greet guests of noble blood downstairs, your highness. In the parlor, perhaps.”

“Well I don’t _want_ him in the parlor, I want him upstairs.” Claude’s eyes froze but Alois felt, in this one strange moment, invincible. “This is my mansion and if he wishes to stay he’ll abide by _my_ rules. If he doesn’t want to come upstairs then toss the dog and his bitch back out. And if he’s scared, have Hannah escort him home.” Alois loosened his grip on the duvet, exposing his graceful neck. “This is Trancy Manor. _I’m_ in control here.”

Throughout his speech Claude’s expression had gone from irritated to stoic and then, right at the very end, a brief hint of surprise had flashed across his sinfully attractive countenance. That was then followed by a hint of lust. Rapacious, wanting _lust._

The spider demon bowed then, tongue caressing his lower lip. “ _Yes_ , your highness.”

 

* * *

 

Ciel Phantomhive was not happy. He’d never been a felicitous person by nature but now— _now_ he was annoyed, exhausted, and fuming with rage. What discourtesy was this? Forcing the Queen’s Watchdog to degrade himself by meeting Alois Trancy in his own _bedchamber_. This was a disgraceful, distasteful bout of humiliation Ciel would not soon forget.

_Perhaps he has a cousin. A distant cousin. He could be Hungarian or even Indian—but Alois Trancy is by far the worst excuse for an earl I’ve ever had the displeasure to encounter._

Ciel’s lips tightened into a thin line when he entered into a dimly let conclave of violent purple and gold. Velvet, satin, silk. A brocade of bruises that seeped from floor to ceiling. The brat even kept his drapes drawn (only candlelight illuminated here) and remained seated in bed.

“My lord Phantomhive.” Alois greeted, voice saccharine with petty mockery.

Ciel wanted to run him through with a sword. Two, in fact. “Lord Trancy.” He managed, jaw clenched while Sebastian remained blank faced by his side. _He’s laughing._ Ciel sneered. _The bastard’s laughing, I_ ** _know_** _it._ “I do hope we haven’t interrupted your schedule this evening.”

“Not at all!” He reassured airily, scooting a little closer on his mattress. “I’m always at your disposal.”

“Wonderful.” Ciel commented dryly, right hand tightening around his onyx and silver walking cane. “Nevertheless, I am here on business. Lord Greer has been captured and is currently holed up in his country manse in Canterbury but—“ Ciel held up his hand, “—he can’t disappear. Not just yet.”

Alois frowned, lower lip jutting out in a pout. “Why not? Sooner we finish this shit, the sooner we can move on.”

While a part of Ciel cringed at the boy’s crudeness, a smaller part of him agreed. He didn’t understand _why_ the queen wanted a written confession—to placate her ego, perhaps?—but he could see the future usefulness in such a thing. “We are in no position to question her majesty.” He paused, eyes carefully cataloguing the room. “That was all I needed to inform you of.”

“You came all the way over here just to tell me _that?_ ”

Ciel suppressed a sigh. “Not exactly.” From the corner of his eye, he saw Sebastian smirk—a wider smirk than his usual expression—and briefly debated on locking him a closet with Grell for his insolence. Forcing himself to focus back on the blonde brat, Ciel adjusted his cravat, expression unreadable. “Her majesty requires that you ensure Lord Greer’s _full_ cooperation in this endeavor.”

“You mean I’ll have to babysit that piece of shit until he does what the queen wants him to do.”

“Yes.”

“So I have to go to _Canterbury?_ ” He says the word with ridicule, as if Canterbury had done to him a great offense. “Isn’t that near Belgium? What if he escapes to Brussels?”

“Britain is an island. We border no nation.” Ciel clarified, part of him wondering why he was even indulging Trancy’s stupidity. “And I’ve ensured Lord Greer’s stasis.” _Chained to his writing desk, courtesy of Sebastian._ “Now that we’ve settled this,” he moved his walking stick from right to left hand, “I bid you goodnight, Lord Trancy.” 

“Wait!” Scrambling out of bed while still in nothing but his shift, Alois ran up to Ciel until they stood just a foot away from each other.

Exasperation flooded through Ciel’s blue, blue veins. “If you need further clarification, ask your butler.” 

“No—I…do you…or, _would_ you like to stay? For tea?”

The invitation was extended with haste and sincerity but Ciel had little patience left in him. If Trancy wanted company so badly, he could dine with that lavender haired maid who seemed to worship the very ground he walked on. Tipping his top hat, Ciel turned around. “Good _night_ , Lord Trancy.”

Before he could take one step across the room, Alois seized his hand, causing Sebastian to spring into action. When Ciel turned back around, he saw Alois’s wrists being held by Sebastian while Claude had a gold butterknife pressed against the crow demon’s throat.

“Sebastian.” This long-suffering night was more than Ciel had bargained for. “End this.”

The butler’s cherrywood eyes moved from Ciel to Alois and then back up to Claude before a smirk graced the crow demon’s mouth. “Of course. Your charge.” He swung Alois (who issued a decidedly feminine yelp) to Claude who, propelled by demon instinct, shoved Sebastian out of the way right as Alois fell back into his arms. The blonde exhaled loudly, glancing frantically between Sebastian and Claude.

“Sebastian.”

“My lord.” The butler materialized by Ciel’s side as if he’d never left.

“Let’s go.”

This night had gone on long enough.

 

* * *

 

Ciel left with a slam of the door while Alois remained in Claude’s arms. His pale blue eyes clouded over with tears and he felt a burning, volatile burst of anger boiling in his chest.

_How dare he._

_How dare he do this to **him**. _

“Claude.” Alois's voice was hushed but laced with steel as he angrily wiped away his tears. “Bring Ciel Phantomhive back here. _Right now._ ”

The spider demon arched a brow. “Your highness—“

“Do as I say!” Alois grabbed the finely pressed lapels of Claude’s jacket. “You will do as I say from now or so help me I’ll kill myself right here and now! You’ll listen to my every command and give me everything I desire—and what I desire right now is Ciel Phantomhive.”

Amusement and a hint of something else Alois couldn’t quite describe glinted in Claude’s golden eyes. “As you wish your highness.” He tipped his head down, cheek brushing against Alois’s chin.

“Go then—and don’t come back unless you have the earl or I’ll have you tarred and feathered.” A streak of cold viciousness flooded the young blonde’s system. He wanted someone to hurt—he wanted someone to _bleed._ “Now,” Alois maneuvered himself out of Claude’s arms, “ _get out._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (And Alois was ~technically~ right - Belgium is directly across the English Channel so it sorta does border England!)
> 
> A/N: This was supposed to be a two-shot but I'm making it a three-shot! (Is that even a thing? LOL) Trying to update/complete all my unfinished works so I can start posting up some new ones!


	3. A piacere

Ciel Phantomhive is sitting on a large, oversized armchair the color of orchids. The sky is dark, filled with obsidian shadows and a lunar moon too pale to give light. Usually, the earl would have been asleep by now, comfortable in his own bed while Sebastian oversaw whatever miscellaneous duties he performed after the sun fell beyond the horizon. Yet tonight, Ciel is not so much sitting as he is bound by coils of heavy raw silk in a bedchamber too purple for his liking.

_Trancy._

The earl grits his teeth. He was more upset with the fact that he’d fallen for Trancy’s ruse than the actual kidnapping itself. There were many things in Ciel’s life he was willing to gamble on but the queen’s trust was not one of them—and Trancy knew it, that childish, marauding _bastard._ Sebastian had been wary—and Ciel was careful—but her majesty operated through covert methods and utilized people who were so unconventional that they bordered on the absurd.

Exhibit A, Earl Trancy himself.

Now, as the onyx sky silenced England with her scepter and black cape, Ciel was imprisoned in a gaudy room not of his own design while Sebastian was stuck in a parlay with the spider demon. After all, Ciel was in no immediate danger and in Sebastian’s mind that was equivalent to acceptable. So long as Trancy didn’t attempt to slaughter his young master, Sebastian was perfectly content to wait it out until he grew bored of the game.

Ciel knew this—how could he not? It was why he was still chained to this damnable chair in the first place.

_At least he had the courtesy to use silk instead of rope._

“Trancy.” Ciel observed the Rembrandt painting that hung directly across from him. _The Abduction of Europa._ How fitting. “I know you’re here.” He continues, sounding more bored than angry. “Come out of the shadows, this is a poor way to conduct diplomacy.”

Silence. 

“I don’t have all night.” Ciel was irritated now. “Unlike you, I actually exercise authority over my various businesses and board meetings though I doubt you’ve ever attended one yourself. But, it’s not to say that I think you incapable—truly, I don’t. If you were genuinely incapable our conversations might have been less virulent. No,” the blue eyed earl spoke with cruel amusement, “you are not incapable—but you are lazy, insolent, full of self-indulgence and pointless violence. You have proven yourself unworthy of responsibility and have wasted more opportunity than Nero, Caligula, and all the failures of Rome combined. You possess nothing but self-pity, defeatism, reckless—“

_Slap._

A sharp sting of the hand fell across Ciel’s cheek with harsh, panicked indifference. Alois’s rings—ruby, gold, and every other carmine jewel—left two shallow cuts, allowing crimson blood to seep through the earl’s porcelain skin.

_Here you are._

Ciel smirked. “And you are full of misplaced pride.”

“Shut up.” Alois trembled, fists clenched by his side. “Your stupid butler thinks I won’t kill you—well he’s right. I won’t. But I’ll hurt you.”

“Tell me Earl Trancy, what do you hope to accomplish by keeping me here? Do you think her majesty will simply decide that I have gone missing and place greater faith and trust in yourself? Do you believe that exiling me from the outside world will force society to accept you in my stead? Please.” Ciel scoffed. “You’re a fraction of what I am and you're but a shade of the aristocracy itself. A paper-thin mirage that will disappear at the first sign of fire.” _And I know fire well._ Whether or not Alois catches the ominous undercurrent in Ciel’s voice is difficult to say but the watchdog ignores this. _Ignorant brat._

“You…you really don’t have any idea do you?” The taller boy murmurs, and he sounds so fragile—so full of wonder—like a broken winged butterfly. “You don’t know why you’re really here.”

Ciel says nothing though his mind catches every detail of Trancy’s expression. The fatalism in his voice, the shattered hope in his eyes.

“I…I didn’t bring you here to hurt you.” He stands in front of Ciel and looks at the earl with something akin to yearning. Breakable, fragile yearning. “I’m, you see—I…” his words are all jumbled together and Ciel has to bite his tongue to keep from lashing out. Alois sees this and flushes. “Do you hate me?” He blurts out this question suddenly, with no preamble or thought, and Ciel only blinks, expression blank. “Do you—“

“I heard you, Lord Trancy.” His voice is ice cold. “Let me…reiterate. You forged an elaborate hoax, complete with a false letter signed by her majesty—an act that is _treason_ by the way—to get me to show up at your manor at 3 in the morning only to kidnap, bind, and isolate me in your bedchamber so you could ask me _that?_ ” The absurdity is overwhelming and Ciel is torn between laughing and screaming. _“_ Is this a _jape?_ What _nonsense_ have you concocted, Lord Trancy? Or have you finally succumbed to madness? Do you truly have _no idea_ of my feelings towards you?”

“I—“

“Allow me to simplify this in terms even _you_ can understand—you are neither my friend nor my enemy. You are an obligation forced upon me by her majesty in that we must work together until she declares otherwise. You are aggravating and full of poisonous hate. I could have gone my entire life, or what’s left of it, without knowing you and I would not have cared in the least. You, Lord Trancy, are less to me than you are to everyone else.” He finishes and silence fills the air.

It is not a cloying silence but a silken one, as if the universe were asking them both to _be quiet_ and _think._

Alois is frozen, still standing in front of Ciel in his violet waistcoat and satin cravat.

The blue earl sighs. “Well? Are you going to untie me or simply stare at me for the rest of the evening?”

Something in Alois breaks and he begins to laugh—a high-pitched, foreign laugh that sounds like broken glass.

It makes Ciel cringe. “For goodness sake man, what is _wrong_ with you?”

“You—“ he laughs hysterically “you think I’m going to let you _go?_ ”

“It’s either that or I’ll have to kill you.” Ciel returns dryly. “I’ve answered your ridiculous inquiry and though you might not be accustomed to the noble world, we had a gentleman’s agreement. Now _untie me_.”

“No!” Alois shouts, coming to at last and all but lunging towards Ciel. He places one hand on either side of Ciel’s armchair. “Answer my question!”

“I already have you blasted idiot!” His temper finally breaks and blue fire burns in his eyes. “I’ve answered your moronic question twice over! I’ve—“

“No you haven’t.” The blonde whispers, sliding to his knees. “Answer me, yes or no. _Do you hate me?_ ”

“I—“

“And don’t think of giving me some convoluted speech about my vices or sins or whatever bullshit you’re ready to say. Don’t pretend,” Alois is between Ciel’s legs, on his knees, as he leans up. Their faces are inches apart. “You’re no better than I am. We’re both fucked. We’re both going to hell so don’t make this about what you have and what I don’t have. In the end, we both made our choices.”

“I hardly think that’s the case. Do you suppose I asked to be taken on my tenth birthday by beasts so vile that all the sins of the earth appear white in comparison?”

“And do you suppose I asked to be fucked by a disgusting old man day in and day out without rest for two years of my life?”

_What?_

Ciel blinks, a register of shock going through him. Alois’s eyes are filled with something he cannot quite name, an inexplicable emotion that borders on the grotesque, but for the first time, Ciel is not repulsed by it. In his own way, he feels a sliver of understanding that is so alien—so _strange_ —that it leaves him frozen in place. In truth, he has never questioned Alois’s behavior as anything less than spoiled—perhaps because, after the fire, he has never bothered to care for anyone outside of his own mind. Using smoke and mirrors and Sebastian’s black magic, Ciel blinded himself to the agony of others around him.

He needed this pitiless indifference to survive. To disguise his own emotions so that he would not recognize and fall prey to them.

But, with the movement of stardust (and ignoring the condemnation of his rationality), Ciel smiles.

“…And here I thought you knew nothing of anguish.”

The irony is clear but so is Earl Phantomhive’s surrender. Alois moves closer to him until his hips press against the velvet seat and his chest touches the sapphire earl’s body. “I thought you were supposed to be perspective.”

“Perception usually needs something to go on. It’s hardly my fault your clues led me in the wrong direction.”

“And what direction was that?”

“That you were a spoiled, uncouth scion who made a deal with a demon for your own fancy.” Ciel swallows. “You can see how disreputable that looks now don’t you?”

Alois falters. “You…you still haven’t answered my question.” He murmurs quietly, almost afraid to speak.

Ciel exhales, soft and cool, and Alois smells moonflowers in the air. Raising his head, Ciel gazes into Alois’s ice blue eyes and his lips move on their own accord.

“No Lord Trancy, _I don’t._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- A piacere: meaning "at pleasure"
> 
> A/N: The end. I hope you all saw how the POV’s worked—first Alois, then Alois and Ciel, and finally Ciel himself. I purposely kept this ending ambiguous but for our Earl Trancy dear, I also threw in a touch of affection. (And yes, Gabriel García Márquez’s quote is about *Ciel* not Alois.) 
> 
> Feedback welcome :)


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